


Hurts Like Hell

by AEpixie7



Series: Ineffable Bureaucracy [19]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A lot to tag here folks, Angst, Choke Sex, Choking, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, F/M, Gabriel goes through some shit, Gross mistreatment of fine china, Loss, Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Plot With Porn, Rage, Worldbuilding, Worst nightmares being realized
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: Some very, very bad news reaches Heaven (bad for Gabriel, good for Heaven) and it sends Gabriel into a really self-destructive spiral. Poor baby is not okay (but he will be, don't worry, I'm not a monster. I think...)
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Dagon/Michael (Good Omens), Gabriel & Michael (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Bureaucracy [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1437652
Comments: 21
Kudos: 92





	Hurts Like Hell

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY A COUPLE TRIGGER WARNINGS TO GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!  
> \--Very descriptive instance of a panic attack.  
> \--Minor character death (not permanent, you'll see what I mean)  
> \--The smut portion is not exactly what I'd call a "healthy" way of dealing with their issues, but these two babies have been through a lot. Bee asks Gabe to hurt her. He doesn't want to do it, but does so begrudgingly. That's what warrants the "dubious consent" tag.
> 
> Look I don't know why I wanted to rip the carpet of happiness out from underneath our darlings, but for some reason I did. This series took a sharp left turn into plot. I know a lot of you started reading for the porn, but there is gonna be a lot more plot from here on out (eventual happy ending, so no one feels duped). But there will still be porn :-)

Gabriel signed off on another request form, grinning down at the stack of paperwork he'd managed to power through. He glanced up to where Michael sat on the plush grey sofa adjacent to his desk, absently chewing on the end of a stylus as she stared down at her tablet. She had taken to spending much of her time in his office, ever since their sparring lesson at the castle. Whether this was because she was being overprotective or finally coming to terms with her own need for the comfort of others, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t a bother, quite the opposite. She usually sat quietly tackling her own workload on her tablet, occasionally stopping to fetch herself a cup of tea or stretch her legs around the hallways. She seemed infinitely more relaxed than he’d seen her in ages, and if his presence was the reason, he was more than happy to provide. Truth be told, he felt the same. It was usually frowned upon to show such favoritism in Heaven—spending too much time repeatedly with the same angel was usually cause for suspicion. Gabriel had always hated that tendency among angels, but it had been ingrained in them ever since The Fall. He knew _why_ the unspoken rule existed. There were a lot of angels who had spent an unusually high amount of time with a certain angel back then, and _spoiler alert_ , none of those angels were angels anymore. But even if his fellow angels had started to take notice, their questioning stares darted toward the ground as soon as Michael or Gabriel noticed. The perks of being the two highest ranking Archangels beneath Metatron; no one had the balls to say a damn thing about it. 

Gabriel capped his pen and turned his chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, sighing contentedly as the diffuse sunlight bounced around the clouds and warmed his face. He had never known Heaven to feel like this. _Safe_. Of course he had always felt the most comfortable here, and of course he was grateful for his position gifted by the Almighty. But there was always a certain amount of fear, in Heaven. Fear of the unknown. Of getting involved with the wrong people, or asking the wrong questions. For Gabriel, there was now the added fear that someone would find out about his affection for the Prince of Demons. But sitting here with his best friend, just knowing she was _here_ and that she would fight to protect everything he loved, and he would do the same for her. He felt _safe_. 

He should’ve known it wouldn’t last. 

“Gabriel! Michael! Come quickly! The Metatron has called a meeting!” Uriel barked from the hallway, disappearing before Gabriel could even swivel his chair around toward their departing shadow. He exchanged a confused glance with Michael, before standing tentatively and buttoning his jacket. Michael set down her tablet on the slate grey coffee table, tugging each of her ruffled shirt cuffs down around her wrists before taking up stride next to Gabriel. The energy in Heaven was strange. It was buzzing, and not in the way that Gabriel liked. Angels all around him were chattering quietly under their breath, their eyes darting around as if they were looking for the next traitorous Principality. 

_Oh God_. Gabriel suddenly felt his heart leap up into his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time Metatron had called a meeting of Heaven. Was this the very scenario Michael had warned him about?! Would they even be able to fight their way out from a crowd like this? 

“Easy, dove,” Michael whispered, her pinky finger gently grazing his knuckles as her eyes scanned the crowd—analyzing escape paths, potential enemies… _threats_. “Smile like you always do. Brave face.” 

Gabriel's forced smile was near second nature by now, but this time it felt damningly fake. But as he glanced around at the growing crowd, he realized there were quite a few pair of terrified eyes looking to him for reassurance. They all hung on his confidence, and seemed to relax at just the sight of the two Archangels, smiling and nodding at their constituents. _Fuck_ Gabriel was tired of this. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this charade. Why did he always have to be the strong one when things fell apart? 

“Thank you all for joining me,” The Metatron said calmly from the front of the crowd, though his voice seemed to carry miles across the gathered angels. He had once again foregone a physical body, as he usually did, instead settling for the imposing face framed in Holy light. An eerie hush fell over Heaven. 

“It is exciting news I bring you today,” Metatron said, most likely in response to the petrified stares. 

“One of the seven Princes of Hell was dragged into the Pit and destroyed today.” 

Gabriel felt all the blood drain from his corporation and settle in a pool at the back of his knees. He hadn’t meant to, but his hand shot out and grasped Michael's with enough force to break bone. Thank God he hadn’t consumed anything recently, because he actually had to cover his mouth as a gag wretched itself from his throat. Michael spun to stand immediately in front of him, her eyes wide with panic as she glanced around, praying none of the surrounding angels had noticed Gabriel's sudden outburst. 

“Gabriel, _please_. Keep it together. We don’t know it was her. _Pull yourself together_ ,” Michael urged as more angels seemed to take notice of the panicking Archangel. 

Michael pulled Gabriel quickly by the hand out of the crowd, smiling sweetly at the angels whose prying eyes followed their movements. She positioned him against a wall so he could lean back against it, his legs still shaking with the effort of simply holding himself upright. Michael spared a few more glances around, purposefully staring down any angels who were scrutinizing them and making them uncomfortable enough to turn their attention back toward the Metatron, who was desperately trying to settle the crowd that had grown raucous. Michael pushed a strand of hair behind Gabriel’s ear when she turned back to him, her eyes soft but urgent. 

“I know, sweety, I know what you're feeling. But I _need_ you to keep it together for the rest of the meeting. If we leave in the middle of a meeting of this scale we paint a target on our backs. Besides, the odds are low it was even her. You saw how she fights. And she has your dagger, remember? Gabriel?” she urged quietly, her thumb stroking his cheek just above where her hand rested on the side of his neck. Gabriel swallowed hard, his eyes glistening and his bottom lip trembling. He nodded and took a deep, steadying breath, pushing weakly away from the wall and squeezing Michael's hand once before releasing it. He approached the outskirts of the crowd, locking his knees and crossing his arms (though to Michael it appeared more like he was literally trying to hold himself together). 

“Now we don’t know which Prince was destroyed, but this is wonderful news regardless!” the Metatron bellowed over the still chattering crowd. “After all of our preparations and all of our well laid plans, the Great War did not happen. Now, it appears the legions of Hell are dismantling themselves! As the old saying goes, ' _evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction!_ ’” 

A round of cheers and applause echoed throughout Heaven. Gabriel felt sick. 

“Hell has descended into chaos. Potentially more of the Princes may fall in the bedlam. Our faith is finally being rewarded. The Almighty always has a plan, and the averted war may have only been the beginning! The promise on the horizon is bright, angels! We had only to wait through the confusion of a botched Armageddon for Her Grace to reveal the true plan. Should the armies of Hell ever crawl on their bellies from the stinking depths to challenge us again, their hierarchy will be dismantled and weak. They will founder on the rocks of iniquity and vanish!” 

More cheers and applause as the Metatron smiled triumphantly over the masses. Gabriel turned to depart quickly to his office with Michael close at his heels, but they were both caught suddenly by Uriel and Sandalphon. 

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Uriel asked, smiling at Michael and then at Gabriel, their smile faltering when they realized he was pale as the clouds. He forced that same smile and clapped his hands together once, gulping down the urge to scream as he slid perfectly into that fine-tuned angelic façade. 

“Of course! The road was bumpy along the way, but God's path is always paved with challenges, is it not?” he asked, hoping the intentionally vague metaphor would appease the other two Archangels so he could _get the hell out of here_. His heart was pounding and his ears were starting to ring. He had never felt faint before, but the fogging around the edges of his vision was concerning… 

“The demons of hell are doing all the dirty work for us, eh? Clearing out all the big dogs so we just have to kick our way through the puppies!” Sandalphon sneered, Michael letting loose a spurious chuckle at his demented joke. 

“Wonder which Prince it was? Perhaps that little pest that plagued you at the airbase, eh Gabriel?” Sandalphon asked with a presumptuous snigger, and before Gabriel could punch the golden tooth caps from his mouth, Michael had wrapped her hand around Gabriel's upper arm and spun him quickly toward his office. 

“Sorry you two, we erm… we were in the middle of some time sensitive paperwork just before the meeting and I believe we really must scurry. We'll catch up later, yes?” Michael called over her shoulder as she urged Gabriel quickly toward his office, her mask of forced cheerfulness melting quickly into a scowl when Uriel sang after them “God bless!” 

Michael released Gabriel's arm and turned to slam the office door. She took a moment to compose herself—a deep breath and a roll of her shoulders as she rearranged her stacked curls with her fingertips. When she turned back toward Gabriel, her heart sank. He had stumbled quickly to his desk chair and collapsed into it, a rubbish bin miracled between his knees and he was dry heaving into it. Michael groaned, approaching Gabriel and rubbing his shoulders. 

“I'm sorry, dove. I know how hard that was. Are you alright?” she asked, knowing full well the answer was _absolutely fucking not._

Gabriel didn’t answer, simply slammed the rubbish bin down onto the floor and whipped his tie from his neck, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt frantically. He stood and yanked his jacket from his shoulders, tossing it toward the sofa and not even caring when it missed and flopped onto the floor. He snatched up his corded office phone and was about to dial the number he had memorized by heart, but Michael yanked it away and slammed it back onto the receiver. The look of pure rage on Gabriel's face was _terrifying_. 

“Not that phone,” Michael said carefully, slowly pulling her own mobile out of her inside coat pocket. “They’ll be monitoring everyone. Use mine.” 

“Aren’t they watching yours?” Gabriel asked, and Michael fidgeted. 

“No. I’ve… jailbroken mine. It's not technically associated with… the celestial network anymore,” she said, biting her lip as Gabriel took the phone and began dialing. 

“How long has that been the case?” Gabriel asked as he tucked the phone against his cheek with his shoulder, his fingers working loose his cufflinks and rolling his sleeves up his forearms. 

“Not that long,” she lied. 

Gabriel's lips turned up into a sad sort of smile, though it faded quickly when it became apparent that there was no answer on the other end. “Shit,” he whispered to himself, pulling the phone away from his face and dialing a different number—Beelzebub’s office number. No answer. 

“Fuck this, I'm going down there,” he said, tossing Michael's phone onto the desk. She hurried around the desk and placed one had on either side of his neck, her eyes glistening. 

“You can't do that, Gabriel. You heard the Metatron, Hell is in chaos right now. An angel in the midst of that would be like tossing a scrap of meat to the wolves. Remember, Dagon is down there too. I'm just as scared as you are and… I need you here to help me figure this out, alright dove? I can’t do this alone. Not again.” 

Gabriel sucked in a breath, steeling his nerves. He reached up and pulled Michael’s hands from his neck, holding them in his. His selfishness had blinded him once again. How could he have forgotten about Dagon? Poor Michael. After losing Ligur, she must be terrified of losing Dagon too. 

“Of course, Michael. I'm sorry. I'm just…” his voice broke and he sucked in a breath to keep the tears at bay. 

“Scared. I know. Me too. Why don't you stay here in case the Prince tries to reach you on your office phone. Just try not to divulge too much information, your conversation will be supervised, I’m sure. I'm going to my office, Dagon knows how to reach me there. They are probably just trying to get a handle on the riots and then they'll reach out. Okay?” 

Both Archangels forced their own reassuring smiles for the sake of the other. Michael nodded and scooped up her phone from the desk, stopping just before reaching the door. “And remember… if anyone else comes in your office… brave face. It'll be over soon.” 

A pang of guilt washed over Gabriel as he realized just how much Michael had suffered in silence, before he had understood what it meant to love a demon. 

“How did you do this alone, Michael? How did you stay so composed in Heaven when you were falling apart?” 

Michael pursed her lips and pulled the door open. “Alcohol.” 

And with that she disappeared down the hall, closing the door behind her. 

Gabriel considered her words, muttered “fuck it” to himself, and miracled a bottle of Scotch and a tumbler onto his desktop, pouring a large helping and gulping it down with a wince. He sank into his office chair, pouring another glass and folding his hands under his chin, his eyes anchored on his office phone. Without Michael here to distract him anymore, the dark thoughts crept into his subconscious like poison. _What was the last thing I said to Bee? Did I tell her I loved her? When was our last kiss? Did I make sure she felt all the love I feel for her? Or did I half-ass it and assume I'd get another chance? What if… what if I never get to run my fingers through her hair again? Hear her giggle at something stupid I've said. Watch her nose scrunch up and those blue eyes betray just how much she likes it when I get handsy._

He stood suddenly, grabbing the glass tumbler and throwing it hard against his office wall, the brown liquid spattering across the wall and the crystalline shards of glass raining down onto the sterile white floor. He sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hands as he counted down the seconds until some nosey angel butted in to his business. 

“Everything alright in here, sir?” some underling angel cheeped from the doorway, and Gabriel didn’t even pull his hands away from his face to look at them. 

“Get out.” 

“… sir?” 

Gabriel snapped. 

All six wings manifested and his golden marks actually burned holes through his shirt from Holy fury. 

“I said… 

G̷̛̺̋͐͛͜E̶͔̿̍̅̌T̵̹̻͑ ̶̳̭̑Ơ̴͉̘̦̤Ṷ̴̮̣̈́͆̊͋T̴̛̲͍̘̒̓.” 

The command in Enochian echoed through the very fibers of Heaven and the poor underling angel looked ready to empty their unnecessary bowels as they fumbled to close the door. 

_Fuck fuck fuck shit shit shit. Brave face, Gabriel, BRAVE FACE._

He tried to will his wings away, but they wouldn’t budge. He'd never struggled to control his celestial form before?! Except… around Bee. 

_No no no. Don’t think about her. Keep it together…_

He tried again to will away his wings and failed. He gasped for air he didn’t need, and his heart thundered unnecessarily in his ribcage. Everything was constricting around him. The walls of his office, his entire world. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t _move_. 

“Gabriel!” he finally heard Michael's voice, apparently after several attempts to grab his attention. Her hands were on his upper arms, and she looked distressed. 

“Sit down, dove, you're having a panic attack,” she said as she guided him to the sofa, sitting next to him and petting his hair. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands and his breaths coming in short, quick gasps. 

“Shhhh, it's alright, it's alright. I'm right here. Breathe, just breathe,” Michael cooed as she wrapped a hand around his arm, huddling close by his side so he could feel her radiating warmth. Of course he didn’t need to breathe, but as Michael had discovered from personal experience, a panicking angel was a very dangerous angel. She’d heard him bellow in Enochian from her office and knew instantly what was happening. The first step was losing control of one's celestial form. Second was reverting back to speaking in Enochian. Third was unleashing a wave of Holy energy and if it was powerful enough… discorporation. 

She sat with him for a while on the sofa, eventually unfurling her own wings and covering his trembling feathers with hers. She miracled his office door not to open for anyone under any circumstances, and continued to stroke through his hair, hoping the repetitive soothing stimulation could bring him back from that ledge. It seemed to help, after an indiscriminately agonizing amount of time. His breathing slowed and his shaking lessened, until finally he was able to will his wings into their non-corporeal state. He sighed heavily, leaning and resting his head on Michael's shoulder. 

“I fucked up, Michael. That angel… whoever they were… I should not have done that, they're going to tell someone…” 

“Hush, it's alright, don’t worry about that, I'll take care of it. I’m sorry I left you. I should’ve known better.” 

“It’s not your fault Michael, I know…” 

Gabriel's statement was cut short by a small balled-up piece of paper that landed with a hollow _thunk_ on his desk, still aflame. Gabriel leapt from the sofa, nearly grabbing the piece of paper but Michael caught up to him and smacked his hand. 

“If you ever want to use that hand again, Gabriel, wait for the flames to go out.” 

Gabriel watched as the Hellfire slowly dissipated, leaving a crinkled piece of parchment to smolder at the edges. He gingerly picked it up, hissing at the sting of extinguished Hellfire, and unraveled the note. 

_We're ok for now. Do not contact. Will follow up when safe. _

_~B_

The relief that flooded through Gabriel's body was damn near enough to knock him on his ass. The only reason he didn’t collapse to he floor was because the note had started to reignite at the edges, and he had to drop it to avoid being burned. He tried to memorize the curves of her handwriting before it disappeared. That single “B” she had signed was the most beautiful thing he could possibly imagine in this moment, and his heart stung to watch it ignite with the remainder of the note. Soon it was a just a wispy pile of ash atop his calendar. 

'Thank God' felt somehow disingenuous to say out loud at the moment, so Gabriel settled on simply releasing a long sigh and then sniffling as he wiped the lingering tears from his eyes. Michael rubbed his back where his wings had been. 

“Dammit, I wish I could just tell her to run. Get out of there. Go to the castle, where she’s _safe_ ,” he muttered. 

“You know that's a bad idea. For the same reason she can’t risk being in contact with you any time soon. If the factions of Hell are trying to overthrow their Princes, then she cannot afford to give away her greatest weakness right now. We're just going to have to ride this out as best we can.” 

“I don't know if I can stay here, Michael. Not like this. Knowing what’s going on down there and just… sitting in my office, filling out paperwork and shooting fingerguns at Sandalphon, who called her a _pest_ …” 

“He wouldn’t have said it if he knew. Sandalphon adores you, you know that. I’m still hopeful the other Archangels would remain loyal to us if… we were discovered. But I know what you mean,” she said, turning away and pacing the office as she wracked her brain for ideas. Gabriel certainly couldn’t stay in Heaven, not after his panic attack. Another outburst like that would result in a reprimand or worse, an inquisition by the High Council. And Gabriel was notoriously bad at lying, he would break under the first line of questioning. Michael came to a conclusion which she knew was inevitable, but it didn’t stop her from liking it any less. 

“Go down to Earth. I’ll make up some excuse that you’re on a mission or something.” 

“Michael, you don’t have to cover for me like that. And I can’t leave you here like this…” 

“You must. We've… we've been relying too much on each other as it is and we are going to draw suspicion if we carry on. Please just go, I'll feel better if I know you're down there, away from all these prying eyes and these eavesdropping walls.” 

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, her words sinking in with equal parts regret and realization. She was right. 

“Will you… be okay?” he asked, and Michael let out a sorrowful chuckle. 

“I’m always okay, dove.” 

*** 

Six weeks. It had been six weeks since Belphegor, the Prince of Sloth had been dethroned by his own demons and destroyed. Hell was still in chaos, as every demon with even the slightest notion of self importance vied for the throne, and others took it upon themselves to try to overthrow the other six remaining Princes. 

Gabriel couldn’t rely on any information that reached him about what was going on below—the rumors were running rampant. Depending on who you talked to, more than one Prince had fallen and Hell was on the brink of anarchy. The riots did provide him with a good excuse to be on Earth, at least. It seemed quite a few demons had fled the violence in Hell and were instead terrorizing humans, or they were simply trying to make a name for themselves by tempting the masses so they could return to Hell and ascend the Throne of Sloth. He remained on Earth for those six weeks, under the guise of thwarting the errant demons, since Heaven’s previous Earth agent was “permanently decommissioned,” for lack of a better term. 

In truth, much of his time was spent desperately trying to distract himself. At first he had tried to go to the castle, just in case Beelzebub needed to flee from Hell, he could be there. But as soon as his celestial lightning had begun to fade with that faint hint of ozone, he knew it had been a mistake. He had only to look at the massive front doors before he realized he would be walking into that place, their shared space, and she wouldn’t be there. The panic had crept up his spine and he instantly miracled himself away, anywhere else. Which had ended up being a pub, where he drank himself into a stupor, started an argument with a bigot who was twisting God's words to support his tirade, and then proceeded to get thrown out of the pub for breaking one of the tables using the bigot’s face. 

One particularly desperate night he found himself standing in the rain outside a Soho bookshop, wrestling with his own pride and attempting to muster up the courage to go inside and beg for help. The warm orange glow of the lights coming from inside should have been inviting, but instead it was just daunting. He could make out the shapes moving around the back room—a tall, lanky form bending over a chair to kiss the plump shape that inhabited it. Gabriel popped the collar of his coat up behind his neck and sighed. 

_You don’t deserve their help._

He wandered aimlessly into the shop next door, and in a moment of weakness, purchased some media of questionable decency, and retired to his swanky hotel room to distract himself another way. 

That is, until he discovered that no matter how hard he was or how desperately he chased that sweet, mind-numbing release, he just couldn’t get off on watching this garbage. It did nothing for him. The bodies on the screen just looked wrong. Not like Bee. They were nothing compared to her porcelain skin, the small swell of her breasts, the curve of her spine when she arched back into him, those _sounds she made_ … 

He came almost instantly, tears wetting his cheeks as he pumped his release onto his stomach and chest, feeling disgusted and appalled at himself. This was _not_ how an angel should conduct themselves. This was desperate and weak and boorish. He had to get out of London. Go somewhere it was so turbulent and loud that he wouldn't be able to think about anything but work. 

America. 

More specifically, the loudest city in America—New York. It was perfect. There was so much corruption and disdain… he could spend a millennia here and barely put a dent in all the sin. He _is_ the patron saint of broadcast media, after all, and where better to put his talents to use than the epicenter of all this fake news bullshit. So he spent his time guiding the humans of the city toward God's light. He blessed a certain Fox News affiliate, ensuring an anchor who was previously going to read a purposefully incendiary copy of the day’s headlines from the teleprompter instead spoke only words of acceptance and compassion toward her fellow man, regardless of gender, sexuality, religion, skin color, or whatever other idiotic immaterial features mankind had determined was worthy of vitriol. Sure, that news anchor would probably lose her job, but perhaps she would have cause to reconsider how God's commandment ' _thou shalt not bear false witness_ ' weighed heavily on her immortal soul. 

Gabriel found himself on the edge of Central Park at the end of those six agonizing weeks, and watched as a young woman ran by him, completely oblivious of the world around her as a set of white earbuds drowned out the city noise. Now that was an idea. Running. He hadn't been running in quite a while. 

His suit and tie gracefully swapped themselves for his grey track suit, and he miracled up a set of the same white earbuds he'd seen the woman sporting. Unfortunately the only music he could think of was The Sound of Music, which didn’t exactly strike the right mood for running through the park. The only other music he'd ever heard was that rock song Beelzebub had played in the kitchen. When she was wearing his sweater. And dancing. And cooking. And _smiling_ … 

_Fuck! Run. Just run._

He tucked the earbuds into his ears but left them silent, and took off into the park, the muffled sound of his own footfalls and heartbeat thudding over the earbuds somehow strangely comforting. It was repetitive and numbing. Just what he needed. 

So he ran. And ran. And ran. He told himself he would stop when his mind and body told him to but every time he slowed it felt like all those dark thoughts were catching up to him. That he might never see Beelzebub again. That the only thing he'd ever loved had been taken from him. That it had been God who allowed that to happen. That he would never trust in Her plans again if that was the case. That he would fall… 

“Oi!” someone yelled, loud enough that Gabriel jerked to a halt, his chest heaving and sweat pouring down his temples as he removed the earbuds and glanced around for the source of the voice. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were running from your demons…” 

Gabriel pivoted on his heel, only now realizing it was night time, and he was not in Central Park anymore. And the voice had come from the demon who had provided the Hellfire for Aziraphale’s trial. Or, one of him, at least. 

“Eric...” Gabriel panted, his lungs feeling constricted from exertion and barely able to force enough air through his windpipe to speak. “What… are you…” 

“Doing in New Jersey? Good question. Trying to tail an angel who seems hell bent on discorporating himself straight out of next year’s Nikes.” 

“I ran to New Jersey?” 

“Yeah. Thought you’d make it to D.C. before I caught you.” 

Gabriel glanced around at his unfamiliar surroundings, then placed his hands on his hips and whispered “fuck” as he tried to catch his breath. 

“My Prince humbly requests your presence at… er…” Eric glanced down at his palm where he'd apparently written notes on his skin with an ink pen. “‘ _The castle_ …' whatever that means…” 

“WHAT?! Are you serious? When? Now? Is she okay? What about Dagon? Are they…” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, one question at a time, chatterbox. Yes, I'm serious. Yes, now. The Prince is never okay, if I'm being perfectly honest, but physically, yes, she's unharmed. And Dagon's fine, she's already with Michael at an undisclosed location. The last little loose end to tie up is you, so if you'd be so kind as to kill me, you can be on your way,” Eric said with a smile, bouncing innocently on his heels as if he hadn’t just suggested his own murder. 

Gabriel blinked at him several times. “What?!” 

“Right. Yeah. You're meant to kill me after I deliver the message. Like a 'burn after reading' sort of thing,” Eric said matter-of-factly, jumping quickly back into his explanation when he was met only with an _are-you-fucking-kidding-me_ stare from the Archangel. 

“Oh! Sorry. Best explain. Discorporations work differently for me. It's not a big deal, really. When one version of me dies, another one of me will just spawn somewhere in Hell. It's kind of fun, actually. Usually make a game of it. Try to spawn in Hastur's office, scare the livin' piss out of him. Got to cherish the simple pleasures, in Hell!” he said with another award-winning smile. 

After several more very confused moments, Gabriel finally caught up to the conversation. “I am not going to kill you! You just helped me!” 

Eric's smile faded slightly, and he fidgeted, before clearing his throat. “Listen. This is the only version of me that knows about you, where you are, where you're going, and _who you're meeting_. Even if I wanted to keep this information a secret, which I do, very much… Hell has ways of making demons talk. So do us a favor, _and get on with it!_ ” 

If anyone had told Gabriel a year ago that he would be standing here, arguing the value of a disposable demon's life and why he couldn’t just kill him unprovoked, he would have laughed out loud. What a world. 

“I AM NOT KILLING YOU!” Gabriel finally shrieked, and Eric rolled his fantastically adorned eyes, spinning on his heel and stomping away. 

“UGH! She warned me you were slow on the uptake but _Satan's bollocks_ , you're difficult. I'll do this myself, then. Just remember to change clothes before you meet the Prince. You look like hell!” Eric shouted, before stepping out into traffic. 

Gabriel yelped and spun quickly to look away when he heard the car horn and ensuing crash. Humans began crawling from their vehicles, dazed and confused and searching for the now absent cause of their crash. Gabriel performed a quick miracle, making sure none of the humans were hurt and all their car repair bills would be miraculously taken care of. Then he glanced down at his own appearance, regretfully agreeing with the demon. He did look like hell. He miracled himself clean of sweat and back into one of his meticulously tailored suits, straightening his tie as he glanced back toward the wreckage once more, before disappearing with a _poof_ bound for Switzerland. 

One of the human truck drivers would later recount to the local news how he swore he'd broken his leg in the crash, but there had been an angel wearing sweatpants. 

*** 

“Bee?!” Gabriel called as he frantically searched the castle, her response of “dining hall” muffled through the walls and tapestries. He shoved the doors of the dining hall open and found her sitting cross-legged on the end of the long table, surrounded by plates of food. She wiped her hands on her pants and hopped down from the table, fidgeting nervously as Gabriel took the few long strides from the doorway and pulled her quickly into his arms. She was strangely rigid in his grasp, eventually pushing on his chest and backing away, her eyes downcast. 

“Not now, angel. I can’t do this now,” she snapped, pacing away and tugging at her hair. It stung… being pushed away like that after so long, after missing her so badly. But Gabriel tried to remind himself that Beelzebub didn’t cope with things the same way he did. And after six straight weeks of fighting to defend herself and her position… he could only imagine the stress she was under. Showering her with love might be too much for her to handle right now. 

He snapped his fingers and filled the entire banquet table with thousands of pieces of delicate china, fine porcelain tea sets, and enough crystalline glasses stacked in a pyramid that they nearly reached the chandelier overhead. Beelzebub turned back toward him, her expression confused until she glanced down to where he was holding out a baseball bat toward her. Realization dawned on her and she looked back at all that lovely breakable finery and smiled. She grabbed the bat, and then Gabriel's tie, yanking him down for a rough kiss. “I fucking love you, angel.” 

Gabriel blushed and backed away, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the wall as Beelzebub tossed the bat into the air and caught it by the handle, the first swing sending a vintage tea kettle exploding into thousands of tiny pieces. 

“Oh… fuck yeah…” Beelzebub sighed, winding up once again to smash straight down onto a tea set. Six weeks worth of frustration and anger and fear came pouring out of her, and it almost seemed as if she were picturing all those millions of demons who would see her dead and her throne in their greedy claws. She destroyed absolutely everything in sight, and finally allowed herself to scream, curse, cry. All the things she couldn’t do in Hell. She still didn’t feel like she'd gotten all of that malevolent energy out of her system, but as she dropped the bat to the floor with a metal _clang_ she fell forward and caught herself on her palms on the table, a sob ripping through her. Over six thousand years she'd trudged through Hell to finally find a glimmer of light. She had been happy for a split second and then _this_ happens. When was it all going to just _stop?_

She felt Gabriel's body press close behind her, and his arms wrapped comfortingly around her middle. He pulled her close and breathed in her hair, tipping his head down to kiss her neck just beneath her ear. Ravenous hunger roared low in her belly. 

“Make me forget, angel,” she whispered, one hand reaching back to grab a fistful of his hair as she arched her back and pressed her ass flush against his crotch. “I want you inside me and I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t feel anything but you.” 

“As you command, my Prince.” 

He wrapped one arm around her stomach and pulled her away from the table, using his free hand to rip the tablecloth off, sending broken glass shattering to the floor. He spun Beelzebub around to face him, both hands grasping her waist and lifting her up to perch on the table. He started fumbling with her coat button but she snapped her fingers and willed the clothing away from both of them, her feet hooking just beneath his bum and urging him forward. 

“I’ve been waiting for you for six fucking weeks, angel. If I have to wait one more second I'm going to spontaneously combust Hellfire.” 

Gabriel smiled and attacked her mouth, taking himself in hand and rubbing the head of his hardening cock along her lips, smearing the slick he found there. They both moaned into the kiss, Beelzebub's hand reaching up to tug at his hair. He grunted and slid just the tip of his cock inside her, then eased back out. The Prince was _not pleased._

“Gabriel I swear to Satan I will rip that pretty cock off if you keep teazzzing…” 

Gabriel pressed an open palm against her chest and slammed her back against the table, sinking quickly inside her with a loud groan. The Prince shouted in surprise but writhed under Gabriel's unusual roughness, her thighs falling open wider as she urged him forward with her feet still hooked under his ass. 

“Izzz that all you've got, angel?” 

Gabriel picked up a punishing pace, pressing down on her chest to hold her steady. He reached between her legs with his free hand and began rubbing circles over her clit, making her back arch and the sweetest moans vibrate in her ribcage. Her legs twitched and her hips jerked as she spiraled into orgasm, though Gabriel didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath. He rolled his hips slowly several times, then snapped them against her, shoving inside her as he simultaneously flicked his thumb over her clit. She threw her head back with a shout and a wince, and for a moment Gabriel faltered at the realization that he might have hurt her. 

“Don’t you _dare fucking stop you ass_ …” she whimpered, one hand reaching down to where his hand lay on her chest, her claws wrapping around his wrist. She dragged her watering eyes down to meet his, guiding his hand up to her throat. His pace faltered once again when he realized what she wanted, and she bucked her hips with a whimper at the loss of stimulation. 

“Gabriel… _pleazzzzze_ …” she begged, her hand closing around his on her throat and pressing in at the sides just beneath her jaw. 

“Don’t… wanna… hurt you…” he stuttered, his heart fluttering nervously when he heard the desperation in her tone. 

“Pleazze just do it, _pleazzze,_ ” she begged, tears already flowing past her temples. He hated to see her like this but he also hated to hear her beg. He wanted to give her what she wanted, wanted to please her, more than anything. So he gave in, his fingers closing just a little tighter around her throat until she groaned, her insides clenching around him. Both her hands wrapped around his wrist as her body jerked _hard_ through her second orgasm, her ankles locking behind his back and urging him for _more_. He continued to choke her with one hand as he returned his attention to that bundle of nerves just above where his cock was sliding so easily into her. He slid his thumb along her wet lips, spread wide by his throbbing cock, and covered his fingertips with her slick, once again returning to her clit with the now slippery pad of his thumb. Her thighs clamped against his sides and she whined quietly against the pressure on her throat, her entire body shaking on the precipice of an explosive orgasm. 

“Is this what you want? For me to hurt you? Is this what you think you deserve? More pain?” he choked, his own tears falling steadily. Beelzebub rocketed into a full-body orgasm, her hands clinging around his wrist for dear life. She tapped his arm weakly when she'd finally started drifting out of the high, and Gabriel obediently released her, though he hated himself for having done it in the first place. Her poor neck was already beginning to bruise. Beelzebub looked up at him with broken adoration, holding her arm out and motioning for him to help her up. He did, and once she was face to face with him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her glistening chest against his, her mouth so much more tender when she kissed him. She whimpered into the kiss, her hands exploring his shoulders, then his back and arms. His pace had slowed glacially, and even though this was far from the impassioned, intense fucking he'd given Beelzebub a moment ago, he found he was teetering on the edge of his own orgasm now. It felt as if Beelzebub was trying to map his skin with her fingertips. Every line of muscle, every curve, trying to memorize it so she would never forget it, no matter how long they spent apart ever again. 

“Bee,” he moaned against her neck, pressing a kiss there for good measure. “I’m gonna cum…” 

“It’s alright. You did so good for me, pet. Go ahead, cum for me, my angel.” 

_My angel._

He wrapped both arms around her lower back and thrust _hard_ inside her, remaining buried that way as his hips sputtered with his release. He gasped from the overwhelming _relief_ , and found himself sobbing against her shoulder. She reached up to pet his hair, and neither said anything for a very long time. 

Gabriel's gasping slowly subsided, though he refused to unwrap his arms from his demon. He didn’t think he could ever let her go, not this time. But when he heard her sniff and realized she was trembling, he slowly pulled back to look her in those serene blue eyes. 

“You okay, Bee?” he asked quietly. She swallowed hard and nodded, but her chin was still quivering. Something in him broke. 

“I know you don't wanna talk about it but we've gotta figure something else out. I can't do this again. I think we should consider... asking Crowley and Aziraphale how they achieved their immunity.” 

“No.” 

“Bee please. I'm begging you at least consider it. You have no idea how close I was to losing it. My only other solution would be to intentionally cause my own fall from grace so I never have to leave your side...” 

Gabriel's head snapped to the side as Beelzebub slapped him hard across the face. Her bottom lip was trembling and her eyes welled up with tears that spilled over, her voice cracking around the single word she was able to choke out. 

"Don't." 

She gasped and collapsed against his chest, her hands weakly clawing against his skin. 

_Good job, dipshit, you made her cry._

"Oh Bee, I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say." 

Her only reply was another sob against his chest and a sad little hiccup. 

"Fuck, I’m an ass. Let's not talk about this right now. You're exhausted. You wanna go to sleep?" 

She kept her face tucked against his chest but nodded. 

"You want me to carry you?" he asked, caressing her shoulder and kissing her hair. She nodded again. 

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her up to their bedroom, laying her gently on the bed and miracling the fireplace lit. He crawled over her and pulled the covers over both of them, wrapping her tightly in his arms. He felt a long sigh leave her body as she cuddled up against him, her trembling slowly subsiding. He reached out with his aura and enveloped her with nothing but calming warmth, his fingertips tracing gentle shapes on her back. He watched her breathing slow, and felt her muscles relax as she slipped into the first peaceful sleep she'd had in weeks. He knew she wouldn’t hear it when he spoke, but he was really hoping Someone Else might be paying attention. 

“I love you, Bee. More than anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, I work for my local news station. And I'm not saying Gabriel being my patron saint is the reason working in news sucks, I'm just saying it explains a lot.


End file.
